Oct 082017
 

I have a few go to phrases, “I suck at handjobs,” is one of those. It’s something that I don’t have a lot of practice in because that go-to statement is normally enough to get my off the hook and moving onto things that I do better. The reality is just that it’s a nonpreferred activity in a bag full of fun sexiness, and something that felt awkward to me.

The nitty gritty of that statement is that I feel handjobs are an area of weakness for me and rather than encourage practice and learning about it, I avoid it like the plague. There will be no blemish on my skill level. Nope.

That doesn’t mean that my hand doesn’t wrap around a cock, or that my palm or fingers don’t appreciate sliding up and down to feel how thick and hard he is, the pulse that I can create, the veins that create a contrast to the smoothness. Oh no, I appreciate all of that. My hands will still most likely touch and feel, but they won’t ever promise a motion that promises fulfillment. My hands will work in tandem with my mouth, most often, if fulfillment to him and hands are involved in any way. That’s part of my own fetish anyhow, having him in my mouth, perhaps that’s why: my greedy mouth does not like to step aside for just hands.

I love when a partner shows me how they like to grip themselves, stroke themselves, the pace that gets them off. Besides being visually stunning and a turn on, I do learn from that – just don’t feel confident in that I could duplicate that sensation due to my lack of experience. I will mimic it, but more as a tease and less of an act in itself, stopping rather quickly so I can get to something I feel more confident in. Every man is so vastly different, from my experience, in how they want a handjob that it’s a bit daunting.

There have been some exceptions, I am sure, far far into my past where a man came unexpectedly, but I can’t place one situation. With my ex-husband, I would peg him and stroke him with a hand at the same time, but he took control of the handjob the first time so our go-to was I would encourage him to stroke himself while I fucked him. For us, if he wanted me to give him a handjob until orgasm, I would’ve tried, but he let me off the hook every time – besides our fascination was always deep throating or sex to fulfillment.

With Mr. Texas, he finally vocalized and showed me what he liked, but it is not something that I feel I could duplicate – rather I learned where he likes to be touched best and to what extent – knowledge I use frequently. The few times I have tried to give him a handjob, he has let me know he’d rather do other things – somewhat discouraging me when I feel bold enough to try. Which normally I wouldn’t care about – again, a bag full of fun things to do anyhow, but I would like to try to give him fulfillment in this way, as oftentimes he will just finger me to orgasm without his own pleasure pursuit so I would like to reciprocate… but he doesn’t seem to want me to try? Or perhaps I suck at the act? Maybe his own kink is getting me off without any pleasure being returned? (It’s not our lack of communication that stops me from knowing my answer – it’s my own fear of the answer).

The Wanderer, well, now I have a success story for this post. He loves handjobs – something that filled me with dread, but he is an excellent teacher, and he walked through my first successfully tried handjob. He was able to verbalize exactly what he wanted and needed, and that was such a huge turn on in itself. It was beautiful to witness.

“My hand wrapped around his shaft and he directed to where exactly to hold on the length. Unsure, I squeezed a bit and he directed me to clench harder. Up and down, my fingers felt the muscles and veins and ridges, my palm felt how deliciously hard he was. His encouragement with the timber of his voice, the erotic words directing me, and I found myself growing wet, imagining what I felt in my hand sliding up and down inside my cunt.

As he hardened even more, his thigh muscles tightened and his hips thrusted a bit into my hand, and I felt powerful. I was creating these sensations that he was enjoying, producing pleasure that had nothing to do with me and every bit directed just for him. There is something selfless about a hand job: it allowed me to be more of an observer of his pleasure, gifted me an intimate view of how he reacts and what he liked, such an intimate glimpse.

I felt him pulse and throb against my fingers and palm, watched as his milky orgasm reached its climax and shot out of his cock, heard his groan of satisfaction. It was so hot” – Hot Wax and Hands

[jwplayer mediaid=”7535″]

Sep 172017
 

Wicked Wednesday

photo credit: Gunn Shots (Catching up) Vistas of my youth via photopin(license)

This is a post that is always a work in progress, as I listen to conversations and agree with so many perspectives. It’s also shifted in myself. Consent is something that is on and off screamed about on Fetlife, and trust is something stressed in the kink communities. When the flurry of writings come out, I try to sort out my own perspective and mixed emotions – especially when it came to my own experience of my trust being broken.

For a play person, consent is crucial. Safe words, negotiations, boundaries being respected are all important factors of the dynamic. Sure, there is trust, but the trust is that those consent pieces are respected. I also have a love/hate relationship with safe words – for a play partner, I keep them at the forefront of my mind; in a relationship I don’t think to use them unless it’s been negotiated prior – I want to go further down the rabbit hole and explore the strange curiosities of comfortably uncomfortable. Safe words imply that a boundary may be crossed due to a lack of awareness of a limit (which may be necessary in both play partners and relationships, but less so in a relationship as the person knows limits).

For a relationship, trust is crucial – consent less so. There is a level of trust that must exist in order for me to fully let go; I entrust things to someone else – including my well-being; I leave it up to that person in that moment. Trust is based on the unknown as well as the known – my partner knows me well enough for this relationship; I trust my partner to choose things specifically for me without my knowledge and based on what is best for me.

To think of it another way: when someone asked what you want at a restaurant and you say, “I’ll leave it up to you,” or “surprise me,” they will not order things that they know you despise. If you go on a date with someone, you strive to the next date – not push your own agenda without care for the other person. So too do I expect my partner to take the time to know me deeply, intimately, to know what I will not do, to push gently for that next step together and go at a pace that is conducive for us both.

I too take that same pace with them – I am not a passive participant.

This type of trust is built over time and carefully cultivated – hence the relationship aspect for me, and it is constantly evolving. It’s a delicate dance of patience and nurturing. And serious communication. It allows me to enter into gray areas, push past boundaries, experiment in a safe place.

Consent is black or white, broken or upheld to the highest degree. It hints at a lack of trust. Negotiation is fantastic, and often necessary in the beginning of two people who do not know each other, but there is something far sexier in the wonder of what’s next in a scene unfolding to me.

At a munch, someone asked the group, “how do you know if someone wants this,” and they replied communication, asking. These are simplistic ways, and truly a great thing, but mid scene I do not want to stop, nor am I going to the very limits of what is negotiated or something that they like. If someone gives a list of kinks, I’m not going to go down every one, I’m going to stroke a few carefully and watch for reactions.

Some examples: with The Wanderer:

“I test the waters, unsure of what he’ll allow…he’s a new partner and I want to please him. I am lucky in that I know a bit about him … but I don’t know what level he exerts dominance, what level of passivity or submission he expects from me.

So my fingertips lightly caress, then become bolder with hands, and then move from fabric to removing fabric, then from hands to mouth.

I never once push, ask, nor even communicate through body language that he should fuck me. I respect his boundary, as I am always very respectful and conscientious of any boundary given,” – Developing 

Okay, now I play with the boundary in a teasing way for fun, though I would never push for sex – it is the boundary. I’ll still mimic the act of sex, grind myself down on his lap, bend over before he spanks me and bump my bottom against his pelvis – but it is clearly a tease and not trying to get away with something I shouldn’t – I only do things of his nature when he is fully clothed, wearing his chastity belt of pants as it were. Even to be comfortable enough to know that my teasing would be acceptable took patience and tiny trials, starts and stops to see how far our trust in each extended.

With Mr. Texas, we started exploring pain elements with safewords, now it is something that is not needed, nor rarely used unless discussed, so it is something I would not think to use unless discussed:

“I also, especially when I top him, realize that I am dealing with a man not used to coloring at all, so I listen to his body language,  his words, his noises, and his actions and proceed cautiously, stopping far before he colors. If I force him to color, I warn him ahead of time that is my intent and do only one action (like bite down) until he remembers to use it.

Again, though, I don’t believe that I should only stop when he uses his safe word. If I am playing to the edge it is with someone I trust and who trusts me, someone that I have played with many times before, someone that will know my tells and listen to my body language the same way that I do theirs.” – Safeword Complication

Mr. Texas and I have extensive trust in each other, and we have certainly baby stepped our way into kink since he was inexperienced and I was untrusting (when he met me). It is this openness of being a strong foundation of exploration that allowed me to relax enough to try anal sex again and impact play has gone far more than any other in more variety of ways.

Before the fallout of my ex husband, he gave me the safe space to explore my sexuality and my world to kink (it was a mutual new experience for us both) without judgment. He pushed my boundaries far past what I thought I would be comfortable with, but it was gently, always (until the end) with the intent that the exploration continue and was comfortable with both of us.

I believe in both consent and trust – but my relationships are less about consent because I do trust them, boundaries are more gray areas, safewords not necessary as we read and know each other (though still there, if need be- a safeword would not be ignored). I cannot consent to a journey unknown.

Sep 072017
 

Squirting is a sexual hangup on mine; my very first hangup since becoming sexual active and it happened less than ten years ago. It also occurred with my ex-husband. The first time he made me squirt, he lifted his hand and smelled it. It wasn’t a sexy smelling he was doing, he was checking to see if I peed myself. Since I had never done this before to my awareness*, the sensation certainly felt like I  had. When I saw his hand lift to his nose, it was a horror-movie-moment of slow-motion what-is he-going-to-find? I immediately excused myself and went into the bathroom and cried, mortified and embarrassed. The sexy moment between us had come to a screeching halt and I wished I could have just vanished. The talk afterwards didn’t go well, then, either (once he finally coaxed me out of the bathroom). While we communicated openly and honestly, we just fumbled and stuck our foot in our mouth.

I hated squirting.

Because of that first experience and the fact that he could make me squirt with such ridiculous ease, we compromised that he never sniffed and eventually we settled to only in the shower.

When I squirt, I will cover an entire wrist and leave a pool of my desire dripping onto the sheets or an arm; there has to be enough pressure applied with a vibe or fingers – which curl just the right way inside of me (so far fingering and a vibrator are the only ways that have made me squirt). I dislike the mess outside of a shower, to be honest. Sheet and mattress pad have to be washed, odds are I’ll have to shower – something I don’t feel the urge to do outside most sexual acts but squirting covers so much of my lower half I may as well at least rinse off.

Once, I was able to do this myself with a vibrator.  Feeling the urge to masturbate, I grabbed my vibrator, and without any warm up, forced it through my dry entrance, slowly eased it in, pulled out and smeared my juices inside around my lips. Then I thrusted my vibrating toy in and out, hard, rough, frenzied. I heard my orgasm, the wetness slapping against the vibrator; felt the tension then liquid hitting my hand, little splatterings that surprised me. In that moment I was proud I had accomplished such a feat.

Once, Mr. Texas ordered me to make myself squirt – something my ex-husband accomplished over a video chat once, ordering:

“Harder,” he would urge, “really fuck yourself,” and, “you can go deeper… you won’t be allowed to cum unless you really give it your best effort,” finally followed by the order, “cum”…The sound traveled across miles, from one receiver to another, and hit my body like thunder. I squirted, my fingers and wrist coated from the force, the bottom of my lingerie and the bed catching the drops of the tensioned storm because he knew how to make me do it-even to myself. – My Punishment

I tried for Mr. Texas, but I immediately felt like crying over such an order – I really don’t know how to do it, nor do I even want to (hence why my ex made me- it was a punishment). Truly, what is most frustrating at times is when a partner reads about experiences I’ve had and believes that the dynamics, actions, experiences can happen again. Squirting is elusive now, something that I do not mind in the slightest.

Nowadays, Mr. Texas has gotten me close, and perhaps even achieved this, though I do have a defense mechanism that is instinctively for whatever reason: I hit. I’m sure I did this with my ex-husband but he never paid any heed if I hit him; Mr. Texas stopped immediately, concerned. We’ve talked about why I do this, and so most of the time he still proceeds or even pins down my arm (surprisingly I only instinctively hit with my right, never my left), but squirting orgasms have to be forced from me, and with my own resistance towards them it becomes even more challenging to create this orgasm.

Thankfully, I have so many more less frustrating orgasms, easier to obtain, in such a variety of ways; I’m not sure why squirting orgasms are even desired by a partner. I don’t hate squirting anymore but I can’t claim to like it either.

*I can recall drenching a bed from just fingering and multiple orgasms before my ex-husband, but due to the nature of the multiple orgasms didn’t have the time or the brain power to reflect upon the oddities of the orgasms. I believe that this was my first experience with squirting, about a year prior to meeting my ex-husband.

Jul 072017
 

To strip out of lingerie, slowly touching. To fuck myself with the wand, to make myself squirt. The bed had a puddle. To orgasm over and over again. To take my toy and fuck myself, to edge myself, to finger myself. To watch him play. To play while he does. To orgasm with him.

I was a sweaty, drenched mess resentful of squirting, of so many orgasms. Overwhelmed.

These were the notes to finish the punishment post – which I never did finish as we (of course) broke up shortly thereafter. It was our longest reconciliation, and our final break up, before we finally reconciled the fact that we were no longer meant to be together.

We jumped right into the power dynamics almost every time we reconciled, but this was different, this punishment – as it was truly a punishment. I dislike so many aspects of this scene:

To perform on command

To masturbate in front of another

To push past one orgasm towards another

To squirt

Edging myself

Sweating

To dress sexy

To be told what to wear

To watch me over the phone live

I won’t finish this post either, as this is a purging, but it was incredibly fucking hot. And horrible. A great punishment for failing at a task.

But this isn’t just a purging, it’s a reflection also. My ex husband knew me so well that sometimes that’s what I ache for. He knew what was pushing my limits, how to control me, how to give me a look that could silence me, the tone of his voice that I simply could not argue with, what my limit was, and when I was hitting peaks.

As I explore power dynamics: both with Mr. Texas and The Wanderer, I miss this awareness that my ex husband had. I miss the absolute knowledge to control me. The Wanderer I heed to simply because it’s our dynamic, because I sense when he holds back for my sake and I am grateful, but also slightly intimidated that he does hold back a bit at times (yay for not always now though, I survived one time he didn’t). Mr. Texas is learning, but it is slow, as it will be with another, as my body and words and my actions are often at odds in pleasure and pain. I do not always feel the need to obey him, sometimes truly debate if I should (because I want him to grow confident in dominanting me and that’s what we negotiated so how horrible if I didn’t) or I should not (because he’s pushing me far more than he realizes, or doesn’t know my exact limits, or can’t read me so beautifully). He’ll get there – this is all new to him.

Mimir got it very quickly, but Mimir has a true gift in the BDSM realm of being able to observe, to withhold, to read people, to push people, to listen, to know them. He is incredibly intelligent and has such a background in kink that his bag of tricks never ceased to amaze me. Even with a bag of tricks, and a breadth of knowledge on things, I have nowhere near the patience nor the skill to read people the way that Mimir did.

The way that my ex husband could read me.

Mr. Texas has no advantage to him other than me as a bottom – who knows that he is capable and the love to be patient.

But how I crave, how I ache, for what my ex and I had. If I have to debate power dynamics, they don’t feel very powerful to me. It’s a choice I am making, a request I am granting; though I know that it is and has always been a choice – it felt more instinctive, allowed me to get out of my whirlwind thoughts and simply obey.

Neither of my current partners are capable of this dynamic – The Wanderer does not even have the time nor the inclination to pursue it at this point in our relationship, and my darling Mr. Texas and I are exploring it – not always with success, but more with persistence. We at least have physically forcing going for us – that’s hot.

Though I sometimes ache, sometimes crave, the power dynamics that force me with just a presence.

 

May 312017
 

I used to joke that my husband sucked in bed once. He did, but he could laugh good-naturedly about it because he was asleep when he sucked. How that man was fully asleep, and yet could carry on a conversation, be hard, let me ride him, and even cum inside of me fully asleep – I’ll never know. The military may train these men to sleep under strange circumstances, as I also don’t understand how he sleeps through mortars or standing up.

And now he has sucked a second time (almost a third, as the night before that wasn’t that great, though it wasn’t terrible). The last time I had sex with him (why does our last times have to suck in some way?), the sex wasn’t good. That night he didn’t want to have sex with me at all – even though I hadn’t seen him in weeks and we just had two nights (and not even days) together, but in the morning hours after his alarm went off he was apparently in the mood for it.  I didn’t even orgasm – and that’s saying something for me. He was fully awake but I received no foreplay before he was pulling me on top of him. I rode him until he found his orgasm in the early morning hours before he climaxed and then began to get ready to go for the day.

Perhaps he was still asleep? No, he was fully awake, he even admitted as much later, and he approached me for sex, not me pushing my body down on his lazy form that I was unaware was sleeping.

Perhaps it was good bye sex? No, good bye sex is meaningful in many ways. It has the passionate ending that is fizzling out but contained for one last burst of brightness. It has longing and love and tenderness behind every moment, and an intense unspoken message in every action. It is a parting gift, a last hurrah. There was no message in his action, no passion in his movement.

Perhaps it was one stand sex? No, even one night stands are more impressive. They explore an unknown body, or a body that they haven’t seen in awhile. People show off a skill normally in a one night, like a one trick pony putting on a display. They seem unsure because it is just for one night. He seemed sure of the steps, of the dance, of the show; uncaring of the tricks that he knows will bring me delight.

I didn’t say anything as he left.

Perhaps it was good bye sex that I was feeling? And I was tired of the words – besides which, he had uttered them far too often and only once to my face – and that was more of a repeat of the words he stated as I drove across country towards him.

Perhaps it was one night stand sex? That was how I felt, as if this person underneath me was just using my body for one time and uncaring of putting on a show; though I was: I was grinding down and tightening in ways that I know bring him pleasure, bring most men to pleasure, putting on my one trick in a way that tires me beyond one show. I didn’t know this person that my thighs straddled, he was an emotionless stranger to me that time and distance and anger and hurt and other relationships created.

…Later that day, when he called me when I driving the distance home, he said that he didn’t feel a connection to me the whole weekend. I could tell and let him know that.

I could also tell where the conversation was leading, as I had heard this enough from him. We didn’t place blame or point fingers, there was no “you do this” but only “I feel this” of a healthy communication expressing of feelings. He didn’t want to do this anymore: he wanted his family to take care of him, he was afraid of change, he was unsure of ever trusting our relationship again.

And to be honest: I was ready to let go. I didn’t want to do this again. I didn’t want to change who I was, what I wrote about, have someone jealousy paranoid, be in a relationship where there was no trust: me not trusting him to stay with me despite time and commitment, him not trusting me in a monogamous setting where I am not even talking to people in a sexual manner. I didn’t want to sacrifice anything further for him – I had already sacrificed so much. And I didn’t want him to sacrifice anything for me when he told me over and over again that he didn’t want to, and I didn’t want the resentment if he did.

Apr 172017
 

While my ex-husband and I were hitting the nail in the coffin of our marriage and making a messy muck of it, we would often use the term “now or never”.

I started it, I think. I started it on the drive out to him, where I told him it was his girlfriend or me. He had to make a decision immediately as I didn’t want to waste any more time driving. Perhaps it makes sense why I issued that ultimatum, but it was still a manipulation ploy.

I also used it when I was stuck in my hometown with nowhere else to go after that long drive. I used it under the context that kids would be in school, I would get a job because I had to, and I needed to know where to settle. “Make up your mind now, you have about two weeks, and then we’re stuck in this town,” I told him desperately. It was the truth, but the truth can still manipulate. I was hoping to press him to get what I wanted.

We reconciled a few times in the Spring, if reconciling meant fucking up each other’s minds and occasionally fucking. So many tears, so much confusion. We would lash out and hurt each other just to keep some distance, come back and apologize between sobs and blame. We didn’t see each other all that frequently, and the few times were in secret.

Clearly, while I spoke the truth, it wasn’t now or never, as I kept pushing back the timeline. Over the summer, surely I could change schools, find another job. Yes, it was even more complicated, but wasn’t it worth it? We really committed over the summer, broke up with our partners and attempted to work towards us. If committed meant throwing ultimatums, mostly from him this time: give up the blog, only write fiction, delete the past lovers, move to me, give me writing assignments, work on your issues – I don’t have any; now or never.

I tried to compromise the most I was ever willing to over the summer, being so heartbroken and lost in life by then that I didn’t know who I was anymore. I wasn’t willing to give up the blog but compromised what it looked like, catered to all the other whims. After just a short time, he changed his mind when I complained that I was only one changing. Summer didn’t see us together for more than a few days without changing our minds, but it was a few days scattered once a week for the duration of it.

We had sucked the vitality of our love in our attempt to keep our relationship together; we were dry and empty. We should’ve known better, but fall saw us trying again. Now or never, I again stated, but this time he was compromising location – after all, by this point I was settled into the school year and just couldn’t do that to my family. We still worked out the terms of our reconciliation, but we were shaky.

This reconciliation lasted the longest – a whole two weeks. He procrastinated finding a job, I was helping him. Now or never, I echoed that so much, so desperate for what I felt was the last time. He visited me for a weekend, I visited him for a weekend.

I think that last weekend was truly our now or never. I was visiting my daughter, making her a priority, and plans in trying to work around her social calendar kept interfering with my ex and myself. Or perhaps our daughters’ schedule weren’t working out the way we planned – but the passion was gone, the desperation – from both of us. I think we both felt it. We were well and truly tired.

As I drove away from visiting him, he called me and stated that he didn’t think he wanted to continue. It wasn’t a new statement by any means, the difference being that I also didn’t want to continue.  We wished each other the best, felt that we would support each other if needed but space was needed far more for the time being, and went our separate ways.

A month later, my baby sister died. I called him hysterical and he seemed amazingly sympathetic, but while I was out there dealing with her body and possessions he became callous and self-centered. I couldn’t understand how he could make demands and requests of me in my grief – though to be fair at any other time I would have responded at least neutrally on what he asked of me. But it wasn’t any other time, it was a tragic heart-ripping moment.

I needed him now far more than I ever had before and realized it would never happen – not even as a friend.

Apr 142017
 

*For the month of April, I am going to purge my drafts of my off-and-on reconciliation attempts with my ex-husband last year. They are still painful, and will be incredibly rough drafts, as I am literally purging emotions and some bittersweet memories. I may also mix in some current stuff just to give myself a break, or to reflect where I am now.

I wrote this on Valentine’s Day, one year before he turned me out of his life. 

1 in a bar full of men, I only had eyes for you

2 you are always supportive of me

3 you do little things to show me you love me, like make the bed, or leave me a note

4 you’re a good dresser

5 you have the upmost respect for women

6 if you’re concentrated, you get grumpy if interrupted

7 you have a huge smile when you tease and deal with my brat times

8 you can pick up something and make it look easy (crafts, bowling, skiing, etc)

9 you are open minded and compassionate

10 you are a fierce snuggler

11 you always have to touch me if I’m in reach

12 your voice slows down and gets softer when talking to females or elderly

13 you always wait till the last minute

14 you’re a good dancer, even when you strip

15 you try not to let me see the tupperware when it’s gross, even changing your mind about bringing it in if I’m nearby

16 you draw your eyebrows together when you decide your done talking about a conversation

17 you only gesture when you’re in a good mood, you will occasionally do knife hands when angry

18 you are a good cook

19 you rock my world in bed and are adventurous

20 the noises you make when you cum

21 your gruff morning voice

Apr 132017
 

“You never hear of the bullet that hits you, it is one of the few blessings of battle.” – Burke Davis, Marine! the Life Chesty Puller

My ex-husband wrote me a list of reasons why he loved me and our life together one week before I drove out to be with him, a drive that he turned me away from him once I arrived. With texts like this, perhaps it may make sense on why I didn’t see the bullet that killed us. Hello purging, glad you are now deleted from my phone.

  • I love the way you look at me when we wake up together, that sparkle in your eyes and that smile you get, especially when you know we are about to have some wonderful morning sex.
  • I love the way you are willing to jump into anything.
  • I like it when you take control, it makes me go crazy and turns me on so much like nothing else.
  • I love how giddy you get when we are going or doing something new!
  • I also like how you try to involve everybody and don’t let people feel left out.
  • I love how we are each others biggest fans and supporters.
  • I love how we drive and encourage each other to be the best that we can, even when it sucks to do so.
  • I love how we can just talk forever and not stop.
  • I can not wait to finally really go RV shopping with you!
  • I love you too, soulmate. Copilot to the open roads.
  • Our home will have a hide away library/romper room we will spend hours in…..
  • We will be those people that will have a map of the United States and get stickers to fill in the entire thing!
  • I am going to have my mini pitbull and you will have your Pom and we will happily fit in the home and RV
  • We are going to be busy people when we retire. There is so much traveling we need to do, not just in the RV but all I’ve r the world. We have talked so much about our worldly travels we will have and I can not wait to begin them. I mean I get to be stuck on a plane with you for over 8 hours that is a great start!
  • Another thing I love about you and I, we get each other what we want.
  • When we retire and build our own house, I will put in a beautiful garden and maybe a green house, so we can have wonderful flower year round.
  • I can’t wait to start exploring this new area with you!

Apr 112017
 

It’s been my limited experience that men in the military take on aspects of their partner’s interests. Perhaps because they’ve become institutionalized and are used to just going with whatever is around them, an adapt-and-overcome attitude. Perhaps it’s because for the vast majority of them, they went from high school to adulthood in the military, without having that awkward transition period of now-what?. Whatever the case, the friends and lovers that I know who are military tend to get involved with their partner’s interests and embrace them as if they came into the relationship with them.

Interested in kink? Well I’ve never considered it, didn’t even consider myself kinky, but let’s try it.

Interested in ballroom dancing? Hey, that’s something I never considered and I love to be active. Let’s give it a whirl.

Interested in weight lifting? Fantastic, I know a thing or two from having to be in great physical shape.

Now don’t get me wrong, there is something endearing about a partner who will embrace my interests and actively engage in them. It is fantastic for a couple to be share passions and  hobbies, but the problem is when a military man personally gets involved with me but comes empty-handed of new experiences that I may also learn from. It also can be a problem when my lover takes an interest and pursues it so fiercely, maybe because it’s new and exciting, that they push only that agenda where I am now sick of something I used to enjoy. Or, it could even be the one-up mentality: they can now (or think they) do it better/know more.

The beauty of engaging with another person is meeting and being introduced to new concepts, ideas, hobbies, experiences. Of my two long term relationships with military men (though my sister had far more and experienced the same things), they did not have a hobby that they pursued in the relationship with me, so I gain nothing new; whereas they pursued some of my passions (kink being the foremost) and broadened their horizon.

Perhaps it’s wrong to tally-mark what is gained in a relationship in this way; I am grateful that the men have engaged in something in something that I love and that we can share in it.

 

Apr 102017
 

*For the month of April, I am going to purge my drafts of my off-and-on reconciliation attempts with my ex-husband last year. They are still painful, and will be incredibly rough drafts, as I am literally purging emotions and some bittersweet memories. I may also mix in some current stuff just to give myself a break, or to reflect where I am now.

As we discussed a plan where I was going to dominant him (after our pegging went so well), I started taking notes and buying some things. It was our second weekend where he would be cheating on his girlfriend, and he approached it as the weekend where he would make his final decision as to who he would choose (yeah, right, sadly that went on for awhile).

We didn’t do the scene that I so carefully crafted, as he became angry at me after the second day and abruptly left. Months later he was still asking me, when his curiosity got the better of him, what I had planned for him. I lied and told him I had deleted the list when I found out he used the items that I had bought for his scene on his girlfriend.

Have I shared that I write everything down? This blog is only the teeny tiny tip of the iceberg, but most really don’t need to be shared.

However, in the interest of purging, which is what I’m doing this month, I am deleting this list (in a manner of speaking) by putting it out here.

The list:

knife

candle

chains

anal hook

violet wand

clothes pins

coconut rope

paddle

wedge with penis down, doxy

wheel

blindfold

gag

rope

futos tied tightly in legs, legs spread ass up, wrists tied

 

**that’s the list. I’m not going to go into detail (because I’m getting rid of, not fantasizing about, him) about the scene or even adding details slightly the way I may in notes.